


Sunny Stranglethorn

by yulon



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulon/pseuds/yulon
Summary: Medivh hears about the on-goings in Azeroth during his retirement.





	Sunny Stranglethorn

Stranglethorn Vale was hotter than usual this time of year.

Much more bearable than the Krasarang Wilds, though, where the combined heat and humidity made a miserable soup of a climate and, worse, helped host far too many bugs in one place, as far as Medivh was concerned.

So Stranglethorn would do and did. And the fishing was just as good.

The Last Guardian lounged against his chair and softened his grip on the fishing pole. He had set up on an abandoned little dock, little more than pieces of wood held together by their willingness to stay above the water. It held him just fine; he suspected it to be an old naga structure, considering the beginnings of some shell artwork and runes, abandoned no doubt because of hunters from nearby Booty Bay. Even from where he sat, the goblin statue of the town peeked beyond the slope of the rightmost hills.

The dock might have been closer to civilization than Medivh usually liked, but it was doable. No one ever spoke to him anyway. And if they did, most got the hint he didn’t want to talk, considering he usually just answered with grunts or one-word answers.

No one ever got any sort of hint or chime or wink of who he was, either. It might’ve been because he spoke so little and gave nothing away. Or it was because no one would recognize the Last Guardian of Tirisfal in thick-rimmed sunglasses, a floral button-up shirt, and khaki shorts accentuated with the finest leather sandals this side of the Eastern Kingdoms.

It was probably that.

And  _just_  how he wanted it.

Medivh rolled his shoulders back and reeled in his line. The hook popped out of the water – with no bait. He scowled. Little thieves. He waved his hand, and following a flash of energy, a small hunk of fish-flesh appeared skewered on the hook. He cast it back out, all while he remained sitting.

Energy flickered to his left. Medivh ignored it, even as the source of it, an arcane familiar the size of a dog, came into view. It hovered over the flotsam chopping onto the beach, and them lifted its tear-dropped body onto the dock.

It came to a stop next to Medivh’s chair and waited. The Magus reeled in the line a little to set the bait. He readjusted his sunglasses.

“What is it this time?”

“Moroes has come back to Karazhan, sir,” the familiar said in a twinkling voice.

He didn’t bother feigning surprise. “He was bound to return eventually,” he said. “I confess myself bewildered he even left at all.” And for Draenor, no less.

There came no response. Medivh glanced sidelong at the familiar. It hadn’t much of a face: just two eyes of glowing energy and a slightly protruding shape underneath them that mimicked something of a squat, mouthless snout. It couldn’t show much emotion with the limitations, but something about it bespoke nervousness.

“And?” he prompted.

The elemental bobbed.

“Khadgar came to Karazhan to seek knowledge against the Legion.”

Medivh looked toward the bobber, red bright and lonely on the surface, and frowned. He shouldn’t have been surprised, like he had not been with Moroes… and yet, some part of him was.

“I see,” the magus said at last. He had expected Khadgar to return to the Tower eventually, but admittedly – not so late. He understood why his old apprentice hadn’t, though; it held so many tainted memories.

“I hope he found something of value,” he said, less to the familiar and more to himself. Karazhan had a wealth of knowledge that even Dalaran would be jealous of – if those in the city ever really realized just what was in the tower. Most magi there, he knew, were too afraid of going one step into Deadwind Pass, let alone Karazhan. Which was fine by him. The less people snooping around there, the better. Medivh may not live there anymore, but he was still possessive of it, and anyway it was the principle of the matter. It was why he had placed arcane familiars in the Tower – to keep him abreast of its activities. He also knew that the Tower had actually made itself an Echo of its old master, which was both very flattering to him as well as somewhat disturbing.

“Yes and no, sir,” the elemental said. “He found a helpful tome by Alodi.”

“I see. And the ‘no?'”

“I’m afraid the Legion infiltrated the Tower and set a trap for Khadgar by using your image, sir. Masquerading as your Echo.”

Medivh scowled.

“I’m sure they had a laugh to themselves over that,” he muttered, smarting.

Not once since his disappearance had Medivh either encountered or dealt with demons. All by his design, of course. The Magus had fought the Legion all of his life; his tasks were done, and now other legends had taken his place. The less he had to deal with  _demons_ , the better. He’d had his fill of them. Even when the Dark Portal had reopened, even when Illidan had been a threat, Medivh hadn’t bothered to go and help. Others could and had helped, including his apprentice, who was doing just fine by himself. Medivh finally had his own life. And he never once felt guilty for having it.

So he’d left the Legion alone, and the Legion had left him alone. Until now.

To think they’d stolen his face –  _again_  – to trick Khadgar? That bothered Medivh. He yanked back the line and the plunged and resurfaced.

“And the outcome?”

“Khadgar banished the dreadlord,” the elemental said. “However he left quite a hole in the side of the Tower.”

Medivh thought about that in silence. Then he smiled. “Of course he did,” he said. “I’m sure Moroes came back solely because he felt the damages worlds away.”

He relaxed his hold on the reel. When had he begun to hold it so tightly? He shook his head at himself.

“And where it my wayward apprentice now?”

“In Dalaran. The city is under siege.”

Damn his curiosity; he shouldn’t have asked. He pulled at the line, and the bobber briefly whisked along the surface.

No, Medivh might not have felt guilty about essentially abandoning Azeroth – though he personally saw it as giving himself a well-deserved retirement – but this time… he ground his teeth as he stared down the line, near-invisible in the glint of the sun. Illidan, the Lich King, Deathwing, a murderous Warlord and then even more? Medivh hadn’t bothered. He was a fading legend, and he wanted to remain that way.

But this time – this time he knew it was different. He’d begun to feel old itches. It was like smelling something from childhood, only not something soft and recognizable, but something like a bitterness that a part of him recoiled at. His familiars, not only in Karazhan but in multiple other cities, had come with more and more reports, and with each one, the magus grew more and more frustrated.  Even fishing, which he’d taken up almost immediately after his disappearance (he found it reposeful and had become quite good at it,) hadn’t allowed him to relax. Even cheating by stunning nearby fish with arcane and reeling them in didn’t make his moods any better.

Because this time, he wasn’t sure Azeroth could handle itself.

The Legion was back and with a vengeance; the King and Warchief’s deaths and the failure of the Broken Shore bespoke as much, as did the invasions peppering the globe. Every possible chance, every possible hero or champion or legend, was needed if Azeroth was going to survive. He knew that. He felt it.

And, unfortunately, Medivh knew that even if he was a fading legend, he was still a legend.

He sighed.

And, he had come to surmise, if Azeroth did end, then so would his retirement. And he didn’t feel like dying again just yet. The familiar’s newest report had teetered him forward.

A little.

“Perhaps I’ll look into the damages of Karazhan,” he said at last. Again he readjusted his sunglasses. The bobber, untouched, was a sudden lost cause to him; he reeled it in to find the hook clean of bait.

He wrinkled his nose. He knew a cosmic sign when he saw one, and didn’t find this one in particular funny or clever.


End file.
